And Twice Beneath A Space
by OceanFire9
Summary: Collection of shorts written for LA Knight's Nuada/OFC fic, "Once Upon A Time." Chapter 3 features Abe & Bruttenholm. The Wink/OC stuff has been moved to "Caves And Rivers," an other fic.
1. My Head Against A Wall

Summary: Response to a writer's challenge for LA Knight's "Once Upon A Time" fic, starring Nuada and Dylan (LA's OFC).

*quote*

_Also, a CHALLENGE! I would like all my devoted readers to write a double-drabble (two drabbles, back to back), one from Nuada's POV and one from Dylan's POV, set during the time in this chapter where they don't see each other. If you need them to be longer than drabbles, they can be, but no more than 600 words, please. And then send them to me so I can read them! I want to read them so bad! Please, please, please? And then I'll select 2 winners who will receive their choice of fic cameo or spoiler questions (or, if they have something that isn't graphic and full of porn/swearing/blood, I'll review a chapter of their work). So let's do it, yeah? Just put "Once Upon a Time Shorts Contest #1" in the summary. I want to see! Pwease? This challenge ends on August 30, 2011. Gives you a whole month from when this challenge is posted._

*end quote*

**So** this double-drabble will be a little bit about what Dylan and Nuada were occupied with in the time they initially spent apart. Also, I will be posting _**all**_ of my "Once Upon A Time" based shorts under this fic, as individual chapters, so be sure to subscribe to this fic if you want to see more of my playing around with things out of LA's head, hee hee. ;)

DISCLAIMER: Hellboy, the comics, the movies, the characters, and the fanfiction that this is a fanfic of ARE NOT MINE!

_PERSONAL DISCLAIMER_: I am in _**no**__ way at all_ a fan of Nuada/OC. Period. I am even _less_ a fan of Nuada/Human-OC. **BUT** for the challenge of a decent writer and a decent buddy, I write this piece. :) Just don't judge me a hypocrite for it; I _am_ still a die-hard canon-enthusiast. ;) Though that should tell you a lot about the quality of writing in "Once Upon A Time," if it's enough to get me to actually read a pairing that I typically hate. *hint, hint, wink, smile*

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><p>DYLAN<p>

She recovered all right enough. There would always be a hitch in her step and she would have to walk with a cane, but she was alive, and she was healed. Well, healed enough in body, that is. What kept going on in her mind was another kettle of fish entirely. _Scarred_ was not really a word she could use for it, but she certainly was not _healed_ either, as it were.

How exactly does one go back to a life that was all routine, after it's been shaken up and turned outside-in? Again?

_Wash the dishes, take out the recycling, feed the cat._

Faeries were real. She could deal with that. It was a fact that she had always known since she was a little girl, ever since she found she could see them and interact with them. Ever since she was essentially punished for not denying them, as everyone around her told her to do so.

_Appointment at 2pm with the boy with the cute little whistling lisp, review client progress and business records for this month, then grocery shopping._

Rape was monstrous. She could even deal with _that._ Somehow her soul was a lot stronger than she supposed that it should be, given the fact that she was only one frail human being - and human beings are nothing if not frail. Her faith and her fortitude seemed to know no bounds, lately, it was a wonder that she wasn't completely shattered still. As if she were being held up by a thread that, amazingly, didn't seem to care enough to break.

_Laundry, call Anya and Joyce to see if we're still on for the out-of-state camping trip this weekend, read tonight's study passages from scripture._

But then she would always come back to the crux of the matter...

_Brush teeth._

Somewhere, out there, was someone _incredible._ A man. An elf. Her rescuer and one-time host.

_Shower._

And unlike so many of his hidden kind, he was neither indifferent towards humans, nor was he fond of them.

_Throw on cozy flannel pajamas._

He _hated_ them, was outright disgusted with them, and had no faith in them at all... Not even after what he had been through with Dylan. Even _knowing_ that she was one of the large few who were quite unlike the vast flocks of "civilized" masses. From what she could make of him, he did not even seem to recognize, nor be able to accept within himself, the fact that there even _was_ such a few that even existed.

She didn't really understand why that hurt. Just that somewhere in her, it did. Very much. It always slid out to stab at her whenever she wasn't looking, or forcing herself to think of something, _anything_ else.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

It hurt even more when the very likely reality that she would probably never even see him again slapped her in the face on top of it all.

_Lie in bed and stare at the ceiling... pointlessly._

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><p>NUADA<p>

Questions are a nuisance. Even moreso when it's your own mind that pesters you with them and demands an answer, just _one,_ that makes _sense._ Questions are like curses, they hover over you until something practically breaks itself in order to resolve it.

And that's what Nuada does now, question and curse, and he can feel his skull almost cracking apart as his thoughts shout loudly in his brain; whirling around and around, like his lance when he trains, or the delicate gears of a fine piece of goblin-work, like the one that he tries to work on now.

Damn her.

-*Hold down the spring here, turn, flip the fastener*-

_She did nothing wrong, she is blameless._

-*Hook the second lever under the primary gear-work*-

Why did she have to be different?

-*Push down on the catch, making sure the gear winds down with it properly*-

_She has suffered for all of us, because she wanted to help._

-*Tighten the peg there, clamp the catch with the fastener*-

Couldn't he just forget about her?

-*Turn the peg gently, carefully*-

Why couldn't he just throw her in with the rest of the lot and just hate her?

-*Wait for the catch to snap*-

_If anything she was well-worth saving._

_**SHUT! UP!**_

-*snap*-

Nuada grabs his lance as quick as lightning and throws it savagely, and it sticks, jutting out of a crack in the stone wall like a silver dart in a wooden plank. And before he puts his head in his hands, before he breaks himself again against all these thrice-cursed thoughts, the one question that he hates most and always fights to push down and away, out of sight out of mind, whispers delicately up from the quiet black before he can ignore it again.

Why does the idea that he might never see her again leave a bad taste in his mouth and make his insides cold and heavy?

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><p>AN - Anya and Joyce are just names I threw out there. They're not actual characters of anything, so far.

- The piece of goblin-work that Nuada is working on is not the same gadget as in the movie, but was inspired from something I read out of the Hellboy wiki. *snip!*

_"__**Hobbies and Interests**__: Nuada differed greatly from the majority of his own kind in his appreciation for the other magical races. He seemed to enjoy time among trolls, goblins, ogres, and other breeds of fairy (yet somehow felt humans were vile creatures). He also bears a distinct fascination with goblin-mechanics. Nuada can be seen, therefore as a sort of magical 'techno-geek' who loved making and fixing things himself (the film shows an array of tools in his possession including an anvil). It can be inferred by the viewers of the film and readers of the novel that he also created the mechanical hand for his man at arms, Wink."_

- I did not check for max-600-word-length per drabble of this two-part one-shot, but oh well, if anyone liked reading it, then my goal is accomplished. :)


	2. Seeing You Again

One reviewer said this:

"From: Crystal ()

Write another, have them meet again, it is a good story! :)"

That actually got the gears going in my head for another short. Wish granted. :)

TAKES PLACE IN THE MIDDLE OF CHAPTER 8 OF "ONCE UPON A TIME," AND AFTER "MY HEAD AGAINST A WALL," WHICH IS CHAPTER 1 OF THIS FIC.

I OWN _**ONLY**_ ANYA AND JOYCE.

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><p><em>"Desperate for changing, Starving for truth <em>

_I'm closer to where I started Chasing after you"_ ~ Lifehouse, _Hanging By A Moment_

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><p>He hadn't really been serious that night, when he left her broken and blood-soaked form on the gurney, to be found and returned to her world.<p>

_Found, returned, she wasn't even lost or borrowed to begin with. _

Dylan Myers had sworn three things to Prince Nuada that night. The first, and probably the most important, was that she would tell no one of what she had witnessed or of what transpired in the time that they had been each other's company. Secondly, she swore that she would never willingly reveal him or his kind to his enemies. And lastly...

_"I swear, also, that I will do as I have always done – my best – to care for any Fae being I come across. Don't worry about that." _

_For a long moment, there was silence between them. Glacial eyes scanned Dylan's ashen face. Finally, all he said was, "I shall hold you to that."_

He hadn't really meant it.

He told her as an admonishment. As someone would say, "be good, or else," to a child. He'd had no intention of ever looking over her shoulder after that, and every intention of getting on with the rest of forever. Plans to move forward, friends and allies to uphold relations with, and a beloved sister to miss, after all, though one was a fool if they assumed that the royal twins never saw each other in all the centuries that Prince Nuada lived self-exiled from his father's court.

And for a while in recent days, he thought he could finally do that. Thought he could _finally_ get the troublesome human and all the thoughts she brought with her out of his head at last.

Of course, it _would_ be just his luck to end up seeing her again, wouldn't it? Just when he finally felt that he never would, and that he could relegate Dylan Myers to the realm of memory-gone-by. Just when the unbidden headaches that came at certain lulls in his day and his mind slipped back to her had finally stopped altogether. Just when his thoughts were all his own and he could forget her.

Nuada sighed over his drink from where he sat at his out-of-the-way perch, observing the Troll Market without even really seeing it. He knew it was useless to try to retire to his chamber and sleep.

She had been in a park, there were two friends of hers with her. It was for some Old World themed faire that a group of humans were hosting, though some of the fairer folk were about, himself included, it was interesting to see some of the old arts and dances kept still by these clumsy humans, to say nothing of some of their _quaint_ costumes. Nuada smiled darkly and took another sip from his drink.

Dylan had flowers in her curly brunette hair. They were pink, like the dress worn by the shorter of her two friends, a petite woman with cropped blonde hair and a wide smile. _Joyce_ they called her, and the style of her dress was actually far from any _real_ style that would have been worn in the old ages. Nuada much preferred the more authentic styles of of the gowns that Dylan and her other friend wore, a long-haired brunette who _looked_ Eastern European, but she spoke with the same sort of rapid-fire tongue that was only to be found on the North American west coast. They were laughing, all three of them, and carrying on with having the best old time any three friends should have.

It was when Dylan turned her head away from the lights, looked off in the direction of the twilight and the already-set sun, that his breath caught and he went rigid. Her eyes had flitted away from the heavens and into the trees, and for a split-second she was looking at him. _Right at him._ Her eyes suddenly went wider and her mouth came unconsciously open in a soft, subtle, and silent gasp. Her form was a very picture of stunned stillness.

"Dylan! Come on! You don't wanna miss this!" yelled her brunette friend, and the spell was broken as Dylan snapped her head to look over in the direction and call back. But that was more than Nuada needed to disappear again. He was closer to her now, and so when Dylan looked back to where he had been, searching manically with her eyes for some sign of him being there and finding none, he could hear her mutter, "Darn it, Anya, you owe me for this," before resigning herself to his absence and re-joining her friends.

Nuada's mug had just run dry by this time, so he sighed heavily and pulled himself out of his still-too-vivid recent memory, though it had happened a couple weeks ago. He had been wondering now, what he was going to do, now that Dylan Myers, _drat her,_ was back on his mind again, just when he'd gotten her _out_ of it at last. And he was losing sleep over it, which was never something that any man of any race was wanting to do, usually. Nuada gave another heavy sigh as he made up his mind right there. He had to see her again. He knew all the proper channels to go through for finding her whereabouts...

Nuada did not believe in the promises of man. His distrust of them was what fueled his choice to live in self-exile in the first place, after the truce was made. "Perhaps," he said aloud, "perhaps it is time I... account for the human's promise, and see if she still honors it."

He didn't want to be honest with himself just now.


	3. Secrets Between Friends

_**Timeframe:**_ This takes place after Dylan gets out of the hospital and roughly around the time that Dylan goes to the Medieval Faire in the park with Anya and Joyce. Sometime a little ways before or after it, you decide.

DISCLAIMER: All things pertaining to Hellboy and Hellboy 2 are NOT mine. I make no material or monetary profit from writing and posting this fanfiction.

Please enjoy! :)

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><p>In the library of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense, Professor Bruttenholm was turning the pages of another one of Abe Sapien's four-books-at-once, when someone quietly came in and joined them. The professor already knew who it was without even looking up. Skipping the generally observed "hello" and "how are you," by way of greeting, he simply cut straight to what he knew must be on her mind. "How is your friend, Dylan? Any news?"<p>

Anya's typically bright young face took on an uncharacteristically "down" look, making her inherited Eastern European features look more somber and disheartened than an impressionist-painted raincloud, and she looked at the floor as she ran a hand through her long hair, and said softly, heavily, "She's recovered, healed and back on her feet, but... Dylan has been _different,_ since the incident."

Abraham Sapien, psychic fish-man extraordinaire, swam up to the face of the huge aquarium that was annexed to the library, in which he resided, and splayed his large, webbed hand on the smooth glass, looking at Anya. "She hasn't told you everything about what happened to her in the time that she disappeared," he said.

It was not a question. Anya nodded, silently.

Abe continued, "You also sense that there's more to _why_ she's not telling you, and that it has nothing to do with the actual trauma." Again, not a question, and the brunette nodded with a "mm-hmm."

After a while of Abe just looking at Anya, whose eyes were on the floor looking at nothing, while Professor Bruttenholm looked through the pages of some text on a table, the amphibious humanoid asked something that came way out of left-field. "You haven't told Dylan that you're with the BPRD, have you?" Anya's head snapped up with her eyebrows raised and mouth agape in an expression of incredulous near-horror at his inquiry. Even the professor looked up, knowing that Abe would not have asked such a question of the young researcher without reason.

"No!" Anya responded immediately. "Of course not! She has _no idea_ that the BPRD even exists! As far as she knows, I'm just a fellow folklore affectionado, making my home in Fairfield,* and raking in enough cash to justify frequent trips between Manhattan and Anaheim! All courtesy of her own damn tax dollars, _oh the irony,_ but what does her knowing or not have to do with-"

Abe interrupted, before Anya's rapid-fire tongue could get any faster with her heightened state of emotion, "Have you considered then, perhaps, that maybe whatever happened to her is a secret of _her_ own that _she_ needs to keep?" Anya stood dumbstruck for a second or two before Abe finished, "For the same high level of importance that _you_ keep _your_ secret from her, maybe?"

Professor Bruttenholm watched Anya's face, as her expressions cycled from stunned to considering, to resigned and then finally thoughtful for a minute or two. "No," she answered softly, her manner subdued, "I hadn't."

Professor Bruttenholm came up from behind Anya and put a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "She is your friend, Anya," he told her gently. "I'm sure that Dylan will tell you when the time is right, if she needs to." Anya nodded again, figuring that he may be quite right.

Abe put his finny hand to the glass again, this time in a manner that was meant clearly as reaching out to his friend and associate, instead of probing her mind for what vexed her. Anya stepped over to the aquarium and put her hand to the glass as well, her long slender fingers matched up over his webbed ones, and she smiled for the first time since getting up that day.

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><p>AN - I just had to get this up here. I was falling into too many last-minute snags with "Anya's Choice," - which will be about Anya's relation to John Myers and how he gets into the BPRD, and tying the fanfic-verse more into the movie-verse continuity - so I ended up splitting what I had into "stand-alone" (for later), and _this._ There will have to be some more fine-tuning of "Anya's Choice" before I put it up, but hey! Now you know what my devious mind hatched for our Eastern-European-from-the-West-Coast, lore-lovin' lady friend!

Original note from "Anya's Choice:" _***snip!***_

_Since I started writing a few shorts for LA Knight's __Nuada/OFC__ fic, "Once Upon A Time," there was this idea for one of the characters that I invented for it that came to me. I actually lost sleep over it, thinking, "Dude! What if Anya was BPRD right under Dylan's nose? COOL!" __**Dylan is John Myers' twin sister in LA Knight's fic**__, and Anya is one of two friends that I invented for her. This piece is about Anya, and it's a stand-alone from "And Twice Beneath A Space," (where all my other "Once Upon A Time" shorts go) because while it does carry a couple of elements from the O.U.A.T. Fic-verse (Anya, Dylan's friend), it actually has more to do with HB movie continuity than anything else, so it stands on it's own here._

_Oh, by the way, neither Dylan nor "Once Upon A Time," are mine, those are intellectual property of LA Knight, I'm just permitted by LA to play around with them. :)_

Cat's out of the bag, Anya's been in the BPRD research department of lore since they scooped her up, fresh out of school, but only WE know that! Har har!

**Note to LA Knight:** You can run wild with Anya now, heh heh. ;D *hugs to you*

*Fairfield, Connecticut, is where the BPRD is located during the time of the movies... Last that I checked, anyway... Correction, apparently that's in the comics. In the movies, it's Newark, New Jersey. My mistake.


	4. Rooftop Radio Opera

Summary: Response to a writer's challenge for LA Kinight's "Once Upon A Time" fic, starring Nuada and Dylan (LA's OFC). **The challenge: Nuada and Dylan's first kiss.** Honestly, there is nothing at all like a first kiss, no matter who or what you are, no matter how many lifetimes it seems you've lived before.

A/N - Nuada may seem a little strange here, because I'll actually be making him _less_ like the character he's progressed into in LA Knight's fic and _more_ like the personality of the famous and charming actor Luke Goss, who played him in the movie, just so you're all aware of that and don't think, "What? Huh?" As such, Nuada is going to seem more laid-back and not be set off internally so much by a bunch of the little things that typically would in the fic-verse.

_**Timeframe:**_ Almost completely anachronistic to the current official continuity, but suffice it to say that it could very well be happening anytime after Chapter 30 of _Once Upon a Time,_ after Dylan has informed Nuada of the concept of slow-dancing. If _any_ of "Rooftop Radio Opera," in whole or in part, _ever_ becomes part of the _Once Upon A Time_ continuity _at all_ in the future, it will be solely at the discretion of LA Knight.

_**To LA Knight:**_ My old words now come back to haunt us both. _You will in all probability love it, for all the elements that it will carry, but at the same time also throw a pillow at your monitor, pretending that it's me and go "AAAAAARRRRRRAAAAUUUGH! That just ain't fair, doggone it!" but you'll still smile and love me for it all the more anyway... I hope *nervous shifty eyes*_

DISCLAIMER: Screw the disclaimer, alright! Everyone already knows that none of it's mine, I make no claim to it, and I make no profit for any of this! But hey, funny disclaimers are all we have in this world, right? RIGHT! Copyright infringement NOT intended, entertainment purposes ONLY, I'm just a fan, blah, blah, blah.

_EDIT 11:45 am, 10/21/2011: Slight alterations to make one of the transitions make more sense._

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><p>"It's beautiful up here," Dylan murmured, looking down below her at the glittering lights of the city from where she stood on the roof of the old and dilapidated skyscraper that would eventually be torn down some not-too-distant year. The view all around them was nothing short of <em>utterly spectacular.<em> "But... I thought you hated places like... _this,"_ she indicated with a gesture of her arm the rampant artificial incandescence that surrounded herself and the exiled prince of the elves. Nuada leaned both arms onto the ledge that surrounded the rooftop and bowed his head slightly.

"On the contrary," he spoke with a smile that was almost sardonic. "There are many times over the ages when I've found myself wishing that your race could be content with all the glory and glitter that it _has,_ and leave the rest of us alone." He looked up at Dylan's face. "Or else choose to live as the rest of us do, and be content to go without it." He looked out over the shining city that blinded the stars, and said softly, contemplatively, "Evidently it's too much to ask for one or the other... It isn't enough to have so _much_ that could rival the jewels of Atlantis before it fell, oh no. More. It's always _more,_ isn't it?" Nuada heaved a heavy sigh, and returned his eyes to his companion. His _friend,_ if he wanted to acknowledge the true nature of their queer relationship at the current moment, which he didn't really. He gave her a smile that wasn't a smile and they continued to gaze at the goings-on from their remarkable view, both magical and mundane alike. Lovers strolled, boggarts scuttled, animals snuffled around for whatever they could find.

Just then, somewhere below them, a rather _loud_ radio clicked on. It was playing "Cold," by Crossfade. Nuada scowled. Dylan chalked it up to being a modern rock song, and therefore likely to be not altogether savory in the elf's mind, but she smiled and said, "Ignore it, it's probably just some teenagers and their obnoxious drive to make the rest of the world subject to their whims in whatever way they can have." This made the corners of the elf's mouth twitch up in an almost-smile. The song was hardly past the first chorus when the channel was changed and the start of "How Does It Feel?" by Avril Lavigne sailed up to them and surrounded them with its slow, heartbeat-like rhythm. Dylan closed her eyes. She loved this song. The slow beat, the aching sincerity.

After a while she opened her eyes and fixed them on the elf warrior. He was looking at her, watching her. Gold and silver gazes mirrored each other in their intense shared regarding of one another. Wordless. Motionless. They were close, _very_ close, arms almost touching, leaning against the ledge.

Without even thinking, Dylan took Nuada's hand, and he didn't resist as she stood up straight and guided it to her waist. In fact, he seemed to be almost in the same track of thought as she was. Nuada straightened up as well, in that smooth way of moving that only a fantastical being such as he is capable of, and slid his hand from the side of her waist to her lower back, as Dylan brought her opposite arm to curl gently around his shoulder, and both of their free hands came up and together to the side of them, clasped in each other. They were boxed in. Neither one could escape now unless the other one let them.

Almost imperceptibly, they pulled closer together, as they began to step, sway, step, sway, to the slow and steady rhythm of the radio, silver blue and yellow topaz eyes never breaking their stare from each other's face. Nuada squeezed Dylan's hand, just slightly, and Dylan returned a similar gesture with the arm around his shoulder, which momentarily meant that Nuada had to further tighten his gentle hold on her waist, pulling her still closer, in order for the two of them to stay in step together, along with the music. But even after that moment passed, neither one of them seemed to care enough to pull back. Step, sway, step, sway. They were _so_ close now, their faces were barely a few inches apart. Step, sway, step, sway. Dylan rested her head on Nuada's shoulder, leaning into his chest, closing her eyes, as the last strains of the song lilted around the two of them. There was no heartbeat drumming under her ear.

It never happened.

Dylan opened her eyes again. She and Nuada were still side-by-side, leaning on the ledge. Her head was on his shoulder. He was just returning his molten-gold stare from some empty space-between-spaces off to the side to look down at her face. The two of them had hardly moved at all the whole time.

The radio continued its shuffle with the song "Dance With The Devil," by Breaking Benjamin, but the words to the chorus of the prior song still tickled along her brain, relentlessly, like the fervid whispering of a school classmate begging to be let in on a secret.

_How does it feel _  
><em>To be <em>  
><em>Different from me? <em>  
><em>Are we the same? <em>  
><em>How does it feel?<em>

Something snapped in Dylan just then.

"I don't understand," she rasped, in a whispered voice that barely felt like it was attached to her body. Nuada looked at Dylan questioningly, waiting for her to elaborate on what she might mean. "How is it that you can see so much worth keeping in even the most dark and frightening, even _despicable,_ faerie races and creatures - beings that many times over have done _horrible_ things to both fae and human alike throughout all the ages - and yet still hold humans in a regard that is lower than even the lowest of them all?" She lifted her head to look at him properly. "What makes us so different and so worthy of such singular hate, truly?" Nuada's eyes sparked and Dylan could see the flames starting to build, but she wasn't having any of it. Not this time. "And don't you _dare_ get preachy with me, Your Highness, I know _darn_ well the reasons that you've given before, and I'm not asking you to love humans." She fixed him with her silvery eyes. "I want to know what it is that has you putting _an entire race_ - past, present, and future - below even the ones that you would _swear_ are the worst of the worst in the faerie realm." She folded her arms across her chest. "And from what I know of you, I wouldn't put it past you to possibly even pick out and _defend_ exceptions from among them as you came across them; you wouldn't even lose any sleep over it. But you have the Devil's own task even deigning to give _me_ any of the same consideration, simply for what I am; you always have. What I am asking you is-" she had to know, she _needed_ to know, _"Why? What happened?"_

Nuada only looked back at her, his face unreadable, but his mind now all astir at this incredible question. How to answer? With civility? With righteous indignation? What could he possibly say to what she asked? And then, unbidden, as if someone else were whispering in his ear...

_"It is said, that at the dawn of time, man, beast, and all magical beings lived together under Aiglin, the Father Tree..." _

Words that swam up to the surface of his mind, like from a long-forgotten bedtime story. Images followed, memories, coming from ages too far back for him to even recall without strain anymore. Little girls chasing butterflies, mothers chatting, fathers and sons playing games. All of them were elf-kind _and_ human. Laughing together, smiling at one another in the sunshine, and all of them were happy and content in each other's company. Nuada did not know if these were _his_ memories from when he was too small to even speak yet, or if they were somehow inherited from someone else,* but they were there, and they were _real._ And he knew it.

_"But man had been created with a hole in his heart, a hole that no possession, power, or knowledge could fill..."_

The words faded out of his mind again, like dissolving daylight, but the effect they left on the elf-prince remained. His eyes focused on Dylan, still standing there, watching him.

_They weren't always like this._ The thought hit him with a smack harder than any physical knock he'd ever gotten from Wink. _Something _changed, _something made them as they are now._ What hit him even harder was the fact that he had _known_ this. He had known it all along. How was it that he had forgotten? He could just _picture_ Nuala raising her eyebrows at him and a slow smile spreading across her face right about now. Except there was the fact that his end of the twin-link was tightly closed off at the moment; he had wanted to be _alone,_ with Dylan - no one knowing where they were, no one looking for them, and no interruptions, - so Nuala could not know what he was thinking, not yet... _Could she?_

Nuada shook it off and decided that an answer to Dylan's question would suffice to occupy his attention, for now. He thought of how best to answer it, what words to say. He looked around at the city, took in all the riotous color, light, and sound; the noise, the smell, the brightness. "It is... too few times that I remember... too often too easy to forget... when all I see, hear, taste, is _this-"_ he gestured to the city around them "-that... You were not always this way." He quoted the lines of the legend that he remembered to her, and he watched her face as some new kind of understanding seemed to blossom in her mind. She soon gave voice to his own thoughts.

"Something changed," Dylan said, ever-so-slightly nodding her head absently. "We have many stories about it, actually, the most famous one being-" Nuada cut her off, he knew where this was going. "That tale of the two humans in the garden, with the talking snake and the fruit tree," he finished for her, a wry smile on his face and a light in his eyes. "Yes, I have heard the story. Personally, it's not what I would consider the most _inspired_ account, but it is _one_ way to explain the change. What made you into what you are now."

Dylan touched Nuada's arm lightly, spoke softly, "Have you also heard, then, the story of our redemption?" Nuada scoffed, the light leaving his eyes almost like a candle being snuffed out and leaving nothing but smoke behind. "I have heard _many_ stories of redemption among your kind, my lady."

Again, a light of understanding seemed to flick on in Dylan. "You believe that there is none, for my race," her voice was steady, low, and even as she spoke. "No hope of being again what we once were."

It was all more of a statement than a question. The way that she said it, was flirting with a line between an honest need for understanding and an accusation. Nuada pulled in a slow, deep, breath, as if he had been breathing shallowly and was trying to return to homeostasis, and he would not look at her for a long time. "Nuada," Dylan started.

_"Mo duinne,"_ Nuada interrupted. He had said it neither gently, nor harshly. In his tone, there had been both a warning, and a plea. His expression was a level one as he looked at her now. He had not brought her here to bicker, nor to fight; he had only wanted some time in peace with her. _Let it alone._

Dylan's better intuition won out, and she relented, assuming a more relaxed and easy posture, leaning on the rooftop ledge again. Besides, it would seem that he _had_ answered her question sufficiently enough, though not in the way that either of them had supposed that he would.

Dylan brought her focus back to the obnoxiously insistent-to-be-heard radio, which had immediately followed Breaking Benjamin with Shakira, singing "Dreams for Plans," and was just now serenading the world with "All To Myself," by Kathy Fisher.

Nuada's hand reached over and took hold of hers, and to Dylan's surprise, he was smiling! For whatever reason, be it the song, the view, the company, or something else, he was evidently more than done dwelling on that darker turn of conversation they'd just had, and was intent to put it behind him. His thumb brushed across her knuckles as he looked into her eyes, and Dylan dared to rest her head on his shoulder again. He put his arm around her, and she closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of him and the soft sound of his heartbeat under her ear. After a minute or so, she felt him tap lightly with a finger on her shoulder, seeking her attention. She looked up and he gestured at something below them, on the street, a smile playing about his mouth and a gleam in his eye. Dylan looked down at it... only to have her mouth fill with a light, sour coating that she comprehended as being a manifestation of a twinge of envy.

It was a couple. They were slow-dancing to the song. Not in typical two-step stance, either, they had both arms around each other, hers around his shoulders, his resting about her hips, and they were as close as they could get, pressed front to front, gazing at each other adoringly and every now and again kissing tenderly. They were slow-dancing. _They_ were slow-dancing. Dylan couldn't look anymore. She shut her eyes. Nuada squeezed her shoulder to try to get her to look at him, wanting to know what was wrong. Dylan lifted her head... Their faces were way too close. The tips of their noses were just barely touching.

Feral eyes of dark gold swept over Dylan's scarred face, from her eyes to her mouth and back again, surreptitiously, and she vaguely registered that she was doing the same thing, looking at him. Carefully, hesitantly, Nuada closed what distance was left between them and pressed his dark lips to hers, once, in a brief kiss, before he pulled back. They both stared at each other, blinking, wordless, for a moment that felt like it stretched on for the better part of an hour.

_That was it?_

It was like a breath, inhale once and then in the next instant it's blown away before your heart even finishes a beat. Had that even really happened? It seemed like it wasn't even real, it was so far into fading already. Nuada pulled further away and began to step back.

_No,_ Dylan thought. _No! That _can't _be it!_

Dylan reached for Nuada and pulled him back to her, crashing her mouth onto his in a near-desperate attempt at something, _something_ that was real. _Something_ she could hold in her that wasn't as ephemeral or insubstantial as a single breath, here and gone forever, only held once. _Something_ that wasn't utterly dissolved with the daylight, never to be felt so presently ever again, as dreams were.

Nuada pushed Dylan roughly away with a sound like "argh!" He gripped her shoulders tightly and held her at arms length, breathing hard, his expression initially looking outraged, affronted, and inside Dylan crumbled. Her face was the very mask of Uncertainty itself as he looked at her now, unsure of what to do. He looked like he was debating internally, weighing out what to do next, and Dylan waited. She barely breathed.

Finally, something seemed to come to a resolution inside Nuada, registering outwardly across his eyes, and he heaved a sighing breath, his head bowing slightly. Slowly, so slowly, he drew closer to her, his forehead coming to rest against hers. Was that... a look of _defeat_ on his face? He closed his eyes and brought his mouth to hers again for the second time that night, but he lingered. The touch of his dark lips on hers was slow and soft, and _warm._ Dylan hadn't the first idea why this surprised her, but it did. She responded, following his lead, not daring to try to deepen the kiss further, lest he pull away again. When he did part his mouth further she matched him, and they kept the slow, lingering pace of each touch, pouring much of what they were feeling - what they _so_ wanted - into this moment. To just have a moment where nothing mattered - no conspiracies against them, no families hounding them, no conventions binding them, no histories bearing down on them - just to be free, _for once,_ to be as free as they hadn't been in a long while. As free as he was in the first centuries of his exile. As free as she was in the days that she was a child. As free as they were now, in this moment. But it was _only_ for now, and as their moment ended, along with the last chords of "I Could Fall in Love with You," by Selena, from the still-present radio, they were dizzy and breathless and near-reeling, trying to put themselves back together from coming so undone.

They both tried ignore the second Shakira song that called after them from that damn radio as he took her home. The song was "Fool," from Shakira's _Laundry Service_ album.

* * *

><p>AN - YES, those really WERE actual movie lines that I quoted there from the opening scene of _Hellboy II: the Golden Army,_ from the bedtime story that Professor Bruttenholm reads to young Hellboy, about the legend of the origins of the Golden Army and Nuada's self-exile.

* That reference there regards a thing called "genetic memory." It is a theory, that it is possible for a living creature to inherit genetically some of the memories of concepts, skills, and/or events from their parents or another close ancestor, resulting in things they could not possibly know, but remember anyway. It is also argued as a basis for instincts, and how they're passed along, but the "memories" thing is more elaborate.

Any spelling/grammar errors? Typos? Transposed words? Please let me know and I will promptly endeavor to fix them!


	5. The Fun Never Ends

Character Quiz! Stolen from Mavrosh, on deviantART, who stole it from Siobhan68, who is also on deviantART.

1. Pick which OC you are going to answer this in  
>2. Answer all the questions truthfully. Make it interesting!<p>

Yes, I know I should be working on my Wink/Lorelei fic, "Caves And Rivers," but I couldn't resist the chance at some fun. Enjoy everyone!

_**EDIT** June 19th: Changed a few things to make it more realistically in-character and less outright silly. *mutters* What was I **thinking,** posting this in the late night hours? *facepalm* Yikes.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Name: Lorelei von der Strom<br>Age: Not yet a whole century  
>Birth Place: Somewhere in Bavaria, Germany<br>Current Location: Manhattan, NYC, USA  
>Eye Color: ultra-gold (aurulent, metallic)<br>Hair Color: black  
>Height: High as a fathom (6-foot even)<br>Weight: None of your business  
>Tattoos: No<br>Boyfriend/Girlfriend: "Boyfriend" is more of a human idea, to say he's my lover would be more accurate.  
>Overused Phrase: <em>Na ja;<em> Shoot; HA!

FAVORITES  
>Food: Fish... that I've caught and gutted with my bare hands.<br>Candy: Chocolate, dark.  
>Number: 9<br>Animal: I _refuse_ to pick just one. Wolf, fox, dragon, cat, swan...  
>Drink: Water... <em>Was?<em> I'm a _rhinemaiden,_ of _course_ it's my favorite!  
>Alcohol Drink: Glühwein, made with red elvish wine<br>Bagel: Bagel? Was that serious?  
>Letter: A love letter. :)<br>Body Part on sexual partner: _Na ja_, having a mouth never hurts.

THIS OR THAT  
>Pepsi or Coke: Neither, that **** leaches minerals from my bones.<br>McDonalds or Burger King: Neither. Are these questions going to get any _more_ silly?  
>Strawberry or Watermelon: Yep, they just did.<br>Hot tea or Iced tea: Depends on the weather.  
>Chocolate or Vanilla: Both at once.<br>Hot Chocolate or Coffee: Hot Chocolate, always.  
>Kiss or Hug: On a good day = a sweet kiss; on a bad day = a warm, tight hug.<br>Dog or Cat: Wolf or cougar?  
>Rap or Punk: I will THROW YOU OUT if you turn that **** up on MY stereo!<br>Summer or Winter: Summer, for just about everything. Winter only if I have someplace warm to snuggle up with my troll.  
>Sad Movies or Funny Movies: Funny movies!<br>Love or Money: LOVE! Money is only a material idea, love is rare and precious.

YOUR...  
>Bedtime: Whenever I can't keep my eyes open anymore.<br>Most Missed Memory: Morning sunlight on the _Seerosen_ blooming on the surface of the pond by my parents' old tavern in Europe.  
>Best physical feature: I would say my magical siren voice. Geri or Wink might say my mouth or my eyes, respectively.<br>First Thought Waking Up: Ugh, can't I just sleep forever?... Oh hey, big warm troll next to me, mmmm, this is nice...  
>Goal for this year: Spend as much time as I can get with WINK! :D Stars above, how I love that troll.<br>Best friends: Wink, Vica, Nuada, Nuala, Dylan  
>Weakness: Having someone moving their fingers through my hair... *purrrr*<br>Fears: Physical entrapment, being caught in something and unable to get free or ecape easily.  
>Heritage: Rhine folk, sirenic killers and musicians (mother). My father shall remain a mystery.<br>Longest relationship: About half a decade.

HAVE YOU...  
>Ever Drank: Yes. I own and manage a <em>bar,<em> how could I _not?_  
>Ever Smoked: EW! <em>NEIN!<em>  
>Pot: ... See above.<br>Ever been Drunk: I don't remember.  
>Ever been beaten up: No, not really.<br>Ever beaten someone up: That depends. How would you define breaking someone's neck?  
>Ever Shoplifted: Never had a need to.<br>Ever Skinny Dipped: But of course... What river siren doesn't? ;)  
>Ever Kissed Opposite gender: <em><em>Natürlich<em>._  
>Ever Kissed Same gender: ... Sober? No.<br>Been Dumped Lately: No.

IN A GUY/GIRL  
>Favorite Eye Color: Anything bright in contrast<br>Favorite Hair Color: Anything dark and soft  
>Short or Long: Short or long WHAT?<br>Style: Wild and dangerous, preferably with claws or fangs.  
>Looks or Personality: Personality. It's what is <em>beyond<em> the obvious that is the most... intriguing.  
>Hot or Cute: "Hot" and "cute" are relative to different standards of comparison and opinion.<br>Drugs and Alcohol: No and maybe.  
>Muscular or Really Skinny: Muscular. What good is a man if he can't rip his enemies to pieces?<p>

RANDOMS  
>Number of Regrets in the Past: Regret is pointless. Regrets are for the hopeless and despairing, the weak-spirited. I regret nothing.<br>What country/world do you want to visit: Post-WWII Germany  
>How do you want to die: I don't want to die at ALL!<br>Do you like Thunderstorms: Yes, I love them. All hail the mighty Thor.  
>Get along with your Parents: I get along with them alright enough, so long as they respect how I choose to live my life (in particular, my choices for romantic partners).<br>Health Freak: Not really a "freak" but health _is_ important to me.  
>Do you think you're attractive: <em>Na ja,<em> it is rather difficult _not_ to.

BELIEVE IN YOURSELF  
>Want to go to College: Not really, human educational institutions are virtually worthless these days.<br>Shower Daily: Does bathing in an enchanted pool count?  
>Been in Love: Yes.<br>Do you Sing: THAT is the single stupidest question to ever ask of a rhinemaiden. :P  
>Want to get married: Um... possibly, maybe later.<br>Do you want Children: Maybe.  
>Hate anyone: Lady Dierdre. I LOATHE her like you might never believe.<br>You prolly answered this already but if you're in Love, who is it?: Wink Ironfist the silver cave troll warrior.


End file.
